_Aliveby Michael Wells(taken from I Shot Bigfoot & Other Stories 2008)I
could just about make out my wife and children saying something to me,
but I was truly in a daze. As I tried to focus on the present the sun's
hypnotic action on the ripples of the stream kept sending my mind back
to my days on Casey Creek. In particular, I was thinking of the day I talked to the old man near that old gristmill dam.The
morning hadn't yet arrived that day when I ran down stairs, grabbed a
bagel and some orange juice, to get ready for another day hooking trout
or whatever else decided to hit my line. I
grabbed a can opener and a can of corn from the shelf. Mom was awake by
now and started her morning routine; coffee, bagel, cream cheese,
shower, bacon and eggs for Dad.Throwing
the corn and the can opener into my backpack, I grabbed my rod and
reel, hand net and my light tackle bag and headed toward the door. "Jack, sit down and chew that bagel before you leave," Mom suggested. Nevertheless, I was out the door barely chewing the bagel at all before choking it down.I
ran down the street, Bill's Corner Market was just opening up. I
stopped in and picked up a block of cheddar cheese, two Cokes and some
potato chips."Going after trout 'er you?" Bill asked as he bagged up my usual Saturday snack. "Don't you know it's Friday, son?" Bill asked.Sure, I knew it was Friday and I also knew school was out today for some teacher's conference. "Just bag it up and let me be on my way old man, the trout aren't going to wait on me all day," is what I thought. However, I actually said, "school's out today and I'm getting a head start."The
clanging of Bill's small cowbell went off as I opened the door and
headed to Casey Creek, which conveniently was located about a block
away. Well, I got to my destination, a gravel bar near a bend about 100 yards upstream from the Asher Street access point. The water ripples pretty well before it enters a deep pool. The trout were there and I knew it.Some
old man knew it as well. I bit off a piece of cheese, which was my
custom, and began working the pool with a glob of corn niblets at the
end of my line. I casted just downstream of where the old man was,
but I hadn't invaded his space. He was knee deep balancing on an old
gristmill dam that made the waterfall about three feet before it entered
the ripple area before the pool.I
thought of him as some old man, because he was there every Saturday
fishing. Some mornings I first caught a glimpse of him silhouetted
against the light of dawn with a red glow about two inches in front of
his face.However, I hadn't seen that red glow in quite some time. Enough about the old man, on my third cast I had a hit. Sure enough, I had a Rainbow. It
tugged a bit and even gave a rise from the water, but I hauled him in. I
didn't even need my net. He was just about 12 inches long. "Just right for lunch," I thought. So I placed him in my hand net, twisted the net above him, and tied it off with a rubber band. Dropping the net to my side into Casey Creek's chilly-spring-fed waters, I reloaded and went back to work.As I resumed fishing, the old man seemed to give a look of approval in my catch. He was one of those advanced anglers. He was using a fly rod, while I was using a spin cast combo.As the morning mist turned into an early May haze, the old man had hooked five trout, releasing all of them. He hadn't moved, but I had. If
I don't get a strike within five or six casts, I judge the spot to be
devoid of quarry. I must admit I am a transient fisherman.Well,
my trout was still in fairly good shape for lunch, although by
mid-morning he wasn't in a revivable state. I had tangled with some
other smaller trout as the morning continued. I even caught a spotted
bass. But it was a slower than normal day.I
decided to see if the old man was really on to something. If he had
found a large concentration of trout, I wanted in on the action.I'll
admit it now as I did then; I only cared what was on the end of my line
when I knew it was going into the pan. I wasn't a trout snob, unless I
decided fish was going to be my lunch. And then, and only then, was I to be considered one of the trout snobs.This
day, I was very much a trout snob. I had planned to return home in the
early afternoon with my catch, clean them, and cook them for lunch. To
tide me over, I chomped another chunk of cheese, grabbed some chips and
took a couple of swigs of Coke. I then invaded the old man's space.A dangerous maneuver if you weren't blessed with a little charm."You
may not realize it sir, but the two of us have been fishing together
for quite sometime now," I opened. He gave no immediate response."And I figure it is about time the two of us got to know one another," I offered."Is that right son?" he said."My name's Jack and today I am a trout snob because that's what I've decided to have for lunch," I said."You're a trout snob, eh? Where's your fly rod?" His words seemed a bit on the sarcastic side, but he was an elder and I was a young 'un."Well, son I wouldn't mind your company, but I need room to work these flies and so I'll tell you quickly who I am," he said.That's fishermanese for "nice try kid, move along, out of my space."But in fairness to the old man, what he said sticks with me to this day. "My name's not important or relevant son, but it's Richard and I fish to stay alive." That was all he said.Months passed by and I continued to see the old man on the banks and wading in and around that old gristmill dam. In all honesty, he caught a lot more trout than I did. Then in October I went down to the creek to catch some trout to freeze for some winter snacking. The old man wasn't there. This being the last time I was to come to the creek before late winter, I didn't think much of it. The old man quit before I did. That made me the most rugged fisherman in the county.But when I returned to the gristmill dam in late February, he wasn't there. I really wanted him to be there, Dad bought me one of them fly rods for Christmas and I could use a tutor. This
is a man who never missed a warm winter day to catch a trout. As spring
moved into summer, I was the only one making the trout of that bend
nervous. I was even becoming a functional fly fisherman on my own.Curiosity
had gotten the best of me and I went to Bill and stumbled through some
questions to ascertain what had become of the old man.Bill knew him and a grave look came over his face. "Yeah,
Richard was one of my best and earliest customers. I could always count
on some money from Richard everyday, like I count on you every weekend
and any day you're not in school," Bill said."Richard passed away last October. He had cancer
and had been dying for sometime. He always used to say he fished to
stay alive. He lived about nine months longer than the doctor's gave
him. Lung cancer, it's a terrible thing."Now as I grew older, my days spent knee deep in trout filled waters grew less and less, though I had become quite the fly caster. Fishing,
inevitably, became just a three or four time a year event that never
could live up to my expectations because of time constraints."Honey, Honey!” My wife's voice awakened me from my daze. I
was fishing in this small creek that runs behind our house. The trout
aren't big, but they are still fun. But I wasn't here for the trout
anymore; I was just fishing to stay alive. I was given six months to live about a year ago and I was going in and out of spells where most people just thought I was crazy.Hell, they are the ones who are crazy. Running around denying the one truth we all are going to face someday. Difference
was I knew when. Or did I? Every day since six months passed I've began
thanking the Lord and ended totally exhausted as I tried not to fall
asleep, fearing I wouldn't wake up."What are you doing, honey?" she asked.She knew damn good and well what I was doing. I was fishing. Well, I didn't say that, I already miss her and our kids and I can't help but feel I've been a failure to them. "I'm fishing to stay alive." I said.She just gave me a look and we went inside."Doctor Woods called," she said."What did he want?" I said coldly. I
know it probably sounds irrational, but Dr. Woods is the person who
gave me a death sentence and I haven't much cared for anything Dr. Woods
had to say. Damn, I know that's unfair, my parents gave me a death sentence as did yours."Well, he's still on the line. Honey, it's good news!" She said."Is he forgiving the bills?" I said.Well, I grabbed the phone and said, "What do you need?"What transpired made me drop the phone. I then uttered, "I'll be damned that old man was on to something."I went down to St. Anthony's and lit a candle for good ole Richard and then I went home. I then walked outside to the creek and fished for the first time in a long while just because I was alive.